


The Long Fall

by Ralli



Series: Dadza’s not so pog in these ones, but he’s trying [2]
Category: Dream SMP-Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bitter Wilbur Soot, Child Neglect, Dark, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt No Comfort, Insane Wilbur Soot, Mentioned Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Philza’s C Plus Parenting, Protective Wilbur Soot, Suicidal Ideation, Underage Drinking, Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralli/pseuds/Ralli
Summary: Wilbur Soot’s declining mental health started far before he even joined the SMP. It starts with a neglectful father.And it ends with him skewered on a sword by the very same man.~~~~TW: underage drinking, suicidal ideation
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Dadza’s not so pog in these ones, but he’s trying [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128647
Comments: 17
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, i know this is isn’t as light hearted as the first, but I had an absolute blast writing this. 
> 
> I also cried, like a baby. Snot everywhere.

Here’s a fact: Wilbur Soot’s life has not always been kind to him. He’s seen days on the streets, days with families that pretend to love him, days in the forest. It’s really only when he meets Phil that his life takes a turn for the better. 

He doesn’t have many memories of it, he was six at the time and heavily traumatized, but he could remember the first meal Phil made for him. He still holds a deep love for ham and cheese sandwiches, it being well past midnight when Phil sat him down at the kitchen table that night. He loved Phil, idolized him; his adventurous father who never ran out of stories to tell before bed.

Then Techno came along. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Techno like a brother, but the older boy never really considered himself family. He was Phil’s project, for the most part. The favorite child who didn’t even call Phil ‘dad’ at that time. Wilbur was almost 9, and he started taking care of himself because Phil sure as hell wasn’t. 

Here’s another fact: Wilbur Soot has always struggled with being shoved to the side. Even before Phil picked up the habit, Wilbur couldn’t hold anyone’s attention for long enough to make them love him. He couldn’t fight like Techno could, he wasn’t the tactical genius that Phil made himself out to be in his bedtime stories (those stopped less than a year after Techno moved in). Wilbur’s smart in different ways. He could tell the location of almost any country. He could play music, usually little songs he heard when he went grocery shopping. 

He always wanted to write his own music. Maybe then, once he finished his greatest symphony, Dad would love him. Dad would tell him he’s proud of him. 

~~~~

Tommy was the first person to ever look at Wilbur and be entranced. With Techno hating children, and Phil busy training him, the responsibility of his two year old brother fell on his shoulders. He did everything for Tommy. He raised him to be as respectful as Wilbur and certainly as talented as his older brother too. He made meals, he hung pictures up on the fridge, he set up playdates with the kids in the neighborhood. Gives Tommy the childhood Wilbur longed for under the menacingly tall shadow of his older brother. 

Tommy was his first priority for so fucking long he forgot what it meant to do things for himself. 

So when his little brother grew extra appendages, his first instinct was not to go and get an adult, it was to cradle Tommy and deal with it himself. The mass on his brother's back looked similar to wings, and he realized he was out of his depth. He may be mature for a 14 year old, but this was too much.

“Dad!!” He shouted. 

~~~~

Phil had no fucking right to butt into Wilbur and his little brother’s routine. For years Wilbur had done nothing but raise Tommy for Phil, and here his father was, just assuming he could take the role that Wilbur prided himself in. Tommy looked up to _him_ , not Phil. Tommy actually paid attention to him. He wasn’t his fathers favorite, but he was Tommy’s. And Phil’s sudden interest in being a father to more than one child threatened that. He cried for hours after the toy store. He already lost his childhood, now he was losing Tommy. He was so, so _angry_ , about everything. 

And he was guilty. He shouldn’t be angry over losing his younger brother’s admiration. He should feel free, happy, even, that he now had a chance to be a teenager. But Phil didn’t get to pick favorites for five years and then think he can fix things in an afternoon. He’s not allowed to do that, he just not. 

He wrote his first song about how awful he felt later that night. Something sad, and bitter, and rightfully angry. He never played it again, left the pages it’s written on in the bin and the tune in his throat. 

Wilbur’s always felt better sitting in his room with his guitar in his hand after that. He wrote more songs, some never see the light of day, others get played to a father who is so tired now. Tommy was six and never comprehending of the words, and Phil never put in the effort to care. 

There were so many warning signs, in truth, of Wilbur’s declining mental state, and it all started in a silent living room in which his accomplishments were laid bare and ignored. 

~~~~

Eventually Phil failed again to step up to the plate and be a father to his less favoured children. He left Wilbur to care for Tommy while he took Techno out on adventure when Wilbur was fifteen. ‘A few weeks’ he said. They returned three months later. Wilbur had spent all the money they left, got a full time job to pay for groceries and house bills and toys for Tommy and _so many bills that piled up_. It was so difficult to be an adult, and Wilbur just wanted to run home and be comforted by the man he once thought of as his dad. 

He tried not to cry in front of Tommy, who turned seven a week before Phil and Techno arrived. He couldn’t even breathe easy when Phil got home because they only stayed for two weeks before leaving again. This time only for a week, but it still felt like an eternity. 

~~~~

Wilbur Soot never had anything that connected him to his father. Techno had his bloodlust, his desire to travel, and his skill. Tommy had his wings. Wilbur had his mother’s guitar and nothing in common with Phil. He used to make excuses that Phil just didn’t understand that the things that Wilbur did were something to be proud of, but years of going unrecognized proved him wrong. 

It’s not that Phil didn’t understand, no, he didn’t care enough to try. Wilbur took his guitar downtown and played a few gigs, learned that people don’t particularly care for the legal drinking age in shady enough bars. As long as he played good, he got free drinks. 

Drinking made it easier. His new friend, another teenager named Schlatt, made it easier too. Schlatt knew what it was like to be ignored, he understood the deep desire to prove oneself. He also understood how to drown his bitter in a different kind of bitter, the kind that burned on the way down but blurred his head so sweetly. 

He never went home through the front door when he was drunk. He could never let Tommy see him like that, absolutely pissed in more ways than one. Schlatt tried to send him home with alcohol to take the edge off, but Wilbur always refused. On his darkest, most alcohol tainted days he tells Schlatt of wanting to leave, wanting to fake his own death and just go somewhere. 

“But where would you go?” Schlatt slurred. 

“Fuckin’ anywhere,” Wilbur spit back. “The sky, I’d go up into the sky, play my own little game and build something for myself.” 

Schlatt snorted. “You’re gonna kill yourself some day, Wil.” 

Wilbur couldn’t fault him for thinking that. 

~~~~ 

Tommy grew up too quick. He started to be more aware of Techno’s presence, much to the older’s annoyance. He idolized Techno, his perfect big brother, his awesome bro who’s just so cool because he can use a sword, and ‘please, Blade, won’t you teach me how to use a sword? Pretty please?’ 

Wilbur took to drinking more, almost always buzzed or tipsy. Phil either noticed and didn’t care or didn’t care enough to notice. That was just fine with Wilbur, who was completely comfortable with fading into the background. If Phil wants to not to pay attention to him then so be it. Wilbur won’t give him anything to pay attention to. Tommy’s twelve, he didn’t need his older brother to take care of him anymore. 

Schlatt left that year, saying he had a chance to finally make something of himself. Wilbur never went past his room door anymore, not doing much of anything but drinking, writing and wallowing in self pity. Twenty one, jobless and still living with his father. That summed him up in a pretty little package with a bow that stunk of booz. 

Phil left for longer periods of time with Techno now. Wilbur barely left his bed. He felt awful, his head pounding constantly. After his spiral into self hatred he signed himself up for therapy, and the first thing he wanted to do was stop drinking. First came the hangover, then came the awful withdrawal symptoms. 

He had to keep reminding himself who he was doing this for. Himself. He couldn’t keep living like that. And for Tommy, because the thirteen year old needed someone who wouldn’t prioritize skills over the person. 

~~~~

Tommy left when the letter came in the mail, an invitation. Wilbur had finally kicked alcohol, six months sober and proud to have done something for himself. Phil left again around the 3 months sober mark, and came back a month Tommy went off to the Dream SMP. 

Wilbur didn’t stop him from leaving. He was 16 he could handle himself in a server with a bunch of other people to look out for him. Wilbur knew it would be easy to follow if Tommy needed him. Besides, 16 was when Techno left for the first time. 

It’s not like Wilbur didn’t care, not like Phil claimed. 

“You just let him go? Wil, what the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. 

Wilbur really, really wanted a drink right then. “I was thinking that I can’t do much more to raise him, Philza. I was thinking he deserved to have something of his own.” 

“Were you drunk again? Don’t think I didn’t notice how often that was,” Phil spit. 

He bristled. “If you’d cared enough to notice then you would know I am seven months sober as of last week. If you’d cared enough to notice, you would have seen how Tommy was _itching_ to get away from here. If you had cared enough to notice you would have seen how much we were struggling back when I was seventeen and working three jobs to pay for everything! You don’t get to use my past against me, you weren’t even fucking there for it!” 

Phil just sneered. “You let your baby brother go onto a server run by people you’ve never met before. If you had any common sense you would have gone with him.” 

“Oh fuck off, don’t talk to me about common sense. If you had any common sense you wouldn’t have fucking left two children alone,” Wilbur said icely. “And if it suddenly concerns you so much about his well being then I will go. Any place would better, now that _you’re_ here.” 

_WilburSoot has joined the game._

~~~~

At the election facing Schlatt was difficult. It was hard to see his friend, who had grown to be more successful than him in other servers, still an alcoholic and still as shady as ever. Where Wilbur improved, Schlatt grew worse. This time he had experience to back him up, and power under a name. 

It hurt to know that his best friend had moved on in the worst way, and no longer cared for him. It made him want to drink again, much like his relationship with his father. He could hardly remember a time that he hung out with Schlatt sober, and seeing him now was sad. 

The betrayal stung worse than he anticipated. It hit him hard and that night in the newly christened Pogtopia was the worst he’s had in a while. The urge to drink was only quelled by the fact that no one would give him alcohol. Everyone was aware of his 1 year anniversary of being sober coming up. They knew he had struggled with liquor but not to what extent. 

Instead he started spiraling, unable to sooth his mind with alcohol so instead just letting everything sink in and feeling the hurt that came with it. 

He always had trouble moving on from things. When it hurt, it hurt for ages. And by god did everything ache. 

~~~~ 

There are a lot of things Wilbur regrets. Standing in front of the button, he regrets dragging his brother into his need to prove to their father that he can make something of himself that isn’t soaked in alcohol and music notes. A symphony of a different kind, violent and finally something his father would understand. He wants to press this little button, just one button, connected to the death of all deaths. 

He heard Tubbo’s voice crack on the stand above him when he was elected president. He remembered how _young_ his boys were. He’s deeply sorry for what he’s about to do, but this gun must go off. He thinks of his song, how correct the lyrics would soon be. The special place left with him in exile. 

He hesitates for a second. His entire symphony is shambles, somewhere along the way he played a wrong note and the whole thing went to shit from there. There’s no saving this masterpiece, his pièce de résistance (There’s no saving him either). 

He’s rambling to himself, the ravings of a madman who got so caught up in his role as the leader and had the rug pulled out from under him. His eyes are open now, far too wide. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Phil?” His heart skips a beat. He fears he has gone truly insane, insane enough to hallucinate his dad’s voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m coming to you.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything! We just elected Tubbo president. We won! We won the war, Schlatt’s dead,” He rushes to explain. 

“So, you are where exactly now?” Phil sounds pissed. 

“In... L’manburg-- the area around L’manburg, you wouldn’t know it, I don’t think you’ve ever been here,” Wilbur answers, barely masking the bitterness in his tone. Philza has never been there, at all. “It’s complicated, geography, you know.”

“Mhm.” And suddenly Phil is there, wings tucked tight to fit in the tiny room with the scribbles on the walls. “Yeah. In L’manburg, you said.” 

“This is L’manburg... Ok. I will admit-” 

Cold dread drips down Wilbur’s spine. This type of anger is seldom seen from his father, it’s terrifying. Not once has this been turned on him, the cold glare, the calculating eyes. For a moment, Wilbur sees the Angel of Death, a moniker well earned by a seasoned warrior who taught Technoblade, the Blood God. And he’s scared, so so scared. But if it goes according to plan, Wilbur will not have much to worry about shortly. One push of a button. One push into madness. One dad he could never get attention from. 

“Do you know what this button is?” Wilbur asks. 

“Uh huh. I do.” 

For once, Phil is listening. Wilbur feels a double edged blade in his gut. He’s happy, but it stings so bad, because _this_ is what it took to get Phil to look at him and actually _see_ him. 

“Have you heard the song? On the walls, before? Have you heard the song? I was just saying, I made this big point, and it was, it’s um, that there _was_ a special place, and it’s not there anymore, it’s not…” he trails off. It’s getting hard to collect his thoughts. 

“It is there, you’ve just… you’ve just won it back, Wil.” 

The anger just bubbles over. He doesn’t get it, once again his father doesn’t understand. “PHIL I AM ALWAYS SO CLOSE TO PRESSING THIS BUTTON, PHIL. I HAVE BEEN- I HAVE BEEN HERE SEVEN OR EIGHT TIMES I have been here. Seven or eight times!” He takes a moment to breathe and the distant sound of rockets bursting echoes in the tiny room. “Phil, I’ve been here so many times. They’re fighting. They’re fighting!”

They pause to listen. Phil’s hand travels to his empty sheath, “And you want to blow it all up?” 

Wilbur sucks in a deep breath. Does he? He thinks of Tommy’s face when they got exiled. He does. “I do, I think- I.”

“You’ve fought so hard to get this land back, son, so hard..” 

It’s the wrong choice of words. Wilbur doesn’t care about how much he fought for this. And Wilbur is not Phil’s son, not anymore. He’s made up his mind. He won’t have long to regret it afterwards, be it he dies by his own hand or someone else’s. “I don’t even know if it works anymore. I don’t… I could press it and it would....” 

“Do you really want to take that risk?” Phil laughs, a nervous little chuckle like he can’t believe the situation he got himself into. “There is a lot of tnt potentially connected to that button.” 

Oh does Wilbur know. He knows exactly how much tnt is there, he placed it while humming a distant and broken tune reminiscent of the L’manburg Anthem. It had been rattling around in his brain for days until this moment. It’s eerily quiet, just Wilbur’s fast, short breaths to break the ringing silence. 

“Phil.” Wilbur says flatly. His communicator beeps with Tommy’s ringtone. He doesn’t look at it. “There was a saying, Phil. By a traitor… Once part of L’manburg, I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?” 

Something warm drips down his face and he can’t tell if it’s blood finally dripping from the battle or tears. His hand curls into a fist. Dead men have no regrets. He’ll be joining them soon. 

“There was a saying.” he turns back to the button, stares at it a moment more. “It was never meant to be.” 

His hand slams into the button. Phil mutters an ‘oh my god’ and moves, wings splayed. Click and the loudest boom he’s ever heard. His ears are ringing, his eyes are watering from the shockwave of the blast. Phil grabs his arm, too late, “You didn’t!” 

Wilbur brings his free hand up to salute, the taste of salt and iron accompanying part to his lead melody, the sound of L’manburg being blown up. Wilbur sighs in relief, a genuinely happy laugh escaping him. He has yet to turn and survey the damage, but Phil got a front row seat to it. 

“Oh my god!!” He moves past Wilbur and Wilbur slumps, just the tiniest bit before turning to look. 

He’s fucking elated to see his country go up in smoke, his special place finally gone for real. 

“Wil! It’s all gone.” Phil says. He sounds like he’s squeezing air through his throat too hard. Like he hasn’t taken in a breath after seeing the beauty that is his final work. 

“MY L’MANBURG PHIL. MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY FOREVER UNFINISHED. IF I CAN’T HAVE THIS, NO ONE CAN PHIL.”

He almost drowns out Phil’s little uttered astonishments. Now for the easy part. “Kill me Phil, Phil kill me. Phil? Kill me. Stab me with a sword, murder me.” 

He hands his father his sword, handle pointed away from him. “Murder me now, kill me. Do it, kill me Phil. Murder me.” 

The look in his father’s eyes his disgusting. There’s nothing but pity and sadness. Wilbur keeps egging him on, regardless. “Look, they all want you to do it.” 

He catches Tommy’s gaze, big and shining with tears, his baby brother staring at him with so much hurt. Dead men have no regrets, Phil better hurry this up. “Do it Phil.” 

“Kill me.” 

“I can’t! You’re- you’re my son!” 

“Phil, KILL ME.” Wilbur has not been Phil’s son since he dumped a toddler on him at 12 and told him to keep it alive. 

“No matter what, I can’t,” Phil argues. 

“Look! HOW MUCH WORK WENT INTO THIS AND IT’S GONE!”

There’s nothing but pain and fire as the sword sinks into his middle. He wavers, just for a moment, before the pain reaches a crescendo and his knees grow weaker. He clutches at Phil’s shirt and coughs up metal onto his own tongue. Phil gently lowers the two of them to the ground. His entire body hurts like it’s burning. 

“Are you proud of me, Dad?” he rasps. His words come out through his blood and teeth. He’s crying, his head is too heavy for his neck so he rests it on his father’s shoulder. “Did I finally do good?” 

Phil doesn’t respond, just grips him tighter as black creeps into his vision. He’s tired. He’s _so damn exhausted_. But he needs an answer. “I’m scared, Dad. I’m so fucking scared.” 

“It’s ok,” Phil soothes. His hand rubs Wilbur’s upper back. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, Wil.” 

“I’m tired, Phil. Can I sleep?” He asks, suddenly afraid that he’s doing something wrong. The fear of death is choking him, his breathing uneven. His middle hurts so, so bad, he just wants it all to stop. 

Phil pulls him closer, and jostles the sword. He whimpers as the pain flares up. Phil is whispering in his ear. “You can rest, it’s ok. Everything will be ok, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur warbles out a laugh that ends in a sharp cough. He can’t see now, it’s all black and the pain is numbing. his relief bleeds out of his wound, dripping down the sword and onto his fathers hands. It take so much effort to whisper a quiet “Thank you.” He goes limp. 

“Wil?” Phil asks. “Wil?!?” 

He doesn’t hear Phil’s agonized scream, everything is dark and warm and there’s this blue shape in the darkness, and the voice of a friend. It’s all jumbled and unclear. Wilbur closes his eyes. 


	2. Ghostbur’s Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s different, being a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmm. I tried, i’m not great at writing dialogue between the same person.

It’s different on the other side. He doesn’t see the world the same way that he used. The sky is bluer, the trees greener, it feels kind of like that one time he tried LSD back as a teenager. Like a hallucination, like none of it’s real. Except Ghostbur knows he’s the one who’s not real. Certain colors are dull though. Any other shade of yellow that isn’t his jumper is dull. The wood of L’manburg is dull, and different. He can’t remember if L’manburg has always been made of wood and stilts or if it was something different. 

People look different too. More formless, just blobs vaguely resembling humans made of different colors that he’s learned to associate with different people. Tommy is red, vibrant red and constantly shifting. Sometimes it hurts Wilbur to look at him. He gets the sense that he’s done something that hurt his baby brother, but he just can’t remember what. 

He likes Phil’s green, it reminds him of a forest, and he likes Tubbo’s green, which is deep and reminds him of kelp. He doesn’t like Dream’s green, it's too bright, too odd, and the shape of him isn’t even vaguely human. Techno is a soft pink, like his hair, like the hug he gave Ghostbur before he left Logstedshire. 

He’s beginning to miss people’s faces though. He only has his own reflection to remind him what humans look like, and even then it’s a poor impression as best. He can see the clouds in the sky through his reflection, and the waves constantly break him up into a thousand pieces. If he had any mind to be cynical, he’d call it poetic, but he’s not the same anymore. 

Tommy has photos of people and they still look like colors, and Ghostbur might drive himself crazy looking for features in the blobs if he didn’t forget anything that made him sad. He promises to deliver the invitations. He’s more than happy to hand them off to Dream, if it means he doesn’t have to see anymore colors and be reminded that he doesn’t really know what his friends look like anymore. 

Everything is blurry beyond that, until he finds the blue shape that doesn’t speak and he can’t put his finger on where exactly he remembers this shade of blue or who it reminds him of, so he just calls him Friend and wanders his way around with him. It rains and he stands under a ledge, hoping the wind won’t blow the rain under it and melt him as Friend baas and eats the grass under his shoes. He likes Friend’s color, that’s why he brought Friend everywhere. It made him feel nice, like blue did. And maybe Friend was just a living source of blue who took the sadness away and let him think clearly enough to stumble his way back to L’manburg. 

He also likes that he never knew what Friend looked like, and that means he can’t miss Friend’s face. 

The colored blobs up ahead are something he’s able to deal with when Friend is around, so he walks right up. He feels something is off. He can’t put his finger on it and he doesn’t want to, because it feels like something close to sadness.

The situation is drenched in tension that he chooses to ignore. Instead, he brings up Friend and hopes that it’ll be enough to make the situation feel right again. 

~~~~

He doesn’t exactly feel the blade going through his center. It’s coated in green, Philza’s green, and little of Alivebur’s yellow (it’s deeper than Ghostbur’s, more like spun gold). He can tell it’s there and that he’s dying but he can’t feel the pain he can remember coming with this. 

He doesn’t want to die. He never wanted to die, not really. He may have begged for it then, but no one truly wants to die. As a ghost, he has no preservation instincts. He drops to his knees purely because it’s what Alivebur did. Philza doesn’t follow him down, even when he beckons his father (not dad,  _ father _ ) to join him. 

“You have to say the words,” Ghostbur mutters weakly. 

Philza is just a mess of green, no facial expressions, so it comes as a surprise when his voice cracks like he’s crying. “I  _ can’t _ .” 

“You have to say you're proud of me,” Ghostbur whispers, still looking up. He didn’t say it before, he has to say it now. Make it right. Then maybe Wilbur will come back ok, instead of fucked up and suicidal. 

“I am.  _ God _ , I am,” Phil says back. “I am so proud of you, Wilbur.” 

“You have to tell me it’s ok to rest.” 

He doesn’t get an answer besides a choked a sob and a nonverbal ‘mhm’. Ghostbur  smiles but his cheeks are melting with his tears. The blade twists slightly in his middle and he whimpers before everything goes dark around him. 

There’s two figures. In the darkness. 

Blue, Friend’s blue. And yellow, deep enough to be gold. They remind him of people. People he thinks he should know, especially Friend’s blue. 

He wants to reach out and touch them. His finger sink into the form of the blue one before he’s dragged back to the crater of L’manburg, feeling worse for wear and really craving a protein shake for some reason. 

He doesn’t know them, he decides. 

Phil kills him again and the blue one disappears. 

This time, in the darkness, the yellow one starts talking to him before he can get too close. 

“Why are you trying to bring me back? I wanted to be dead, I want to stay dead,” He says. 

“Alivebur?” 

“... no. Just Wilbur,” The golden blob says. 

“Oh. Why don’t you want to come back? There’s Philza over there, Friend, Tommy, Techno, Tubbo. We know a lot of people whose names start with T,” Ghostbur says cheerfully. 

The blob shifts, and his image becomes clearer. There’s a face coming into focus now. Wilbur looks tired, even in death. He has a matching wound on his chest that drips more gold. “There’s nothing there for me.” 

“Yes there is! Phil just told me he’s proud of us. That’s something to come back for, right?” 

“You’re a bit of an idiot, aren’t you?” Wilbur comments. “If he was proud of me, he would have said so back before he killed me.” 

Ghostbur doesn’t think he’s an idiot. Oblivious, maybe, but not an idiot. “Maybe he just didn’t know how to say it. Not in a way that would make you happy.” 

“Can’t you just respect my wishes and leave me dead? It’s bad enough that you’re hanging around making everyone sad and shit,” Wilbur sneers. “Go away.” 

And he’s back on earth, still a ghost. He’s having trouble remembering exactly what happened, but to his surprise, people are no longer blobs of color but colored outlines instead. He tries to think back to when that changed but all it brings up is gold and blue and the void. 

He definitely doesn’t know them, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My science teacher liked my semester final project so much he asked if he could print it out. This is the only thing getting me through the week.

**Author's Note:**

> What is it with me writing everything under the sun besides the fic i’ve put the most time and effort into??? That being said, i have a little plan for a Technoblade one shot in this series next. Idk when it’ll come out since i haven’t even started writing it, but it promises to be at least an interesting take on ‘Techno’s the favorite’


End file.
